Big Game (21 page)

On the wall behind it, the head of an African white rhino was mounted. It looked like it had died in the middle of a belch. It had an exceptionally long horn, almost two feet tall, tapering to a perfect point.

“You don't raise rhinos here, do you?” I asked.

“No, though I've thought about it,” Adam replied. “It's legal, but I'd still catch way too much flak. No one seems to care that I've got a thousand antelope out there. If I brought in a rhino, though, I can guarantee you the anti-hunting folks would be clamoring to shut me down within days. Which is a darn shame, because rhino hunting's practically the only way to save those animals.”

“Wait,” Summer said. “How do you
save
an animal by hunting it?”

“It's all a question of money,” Adam explained. “Big-game hunting brings in far more money than safari tourism does—and most of that goes right to conservation efforts. Hunters don't want these animals to go extinct any more than the animal rights activists do.”

“Because if they do, there won't be anything left to kill,” Summer muttered under her breath.

Adam didn't hear her. “In fact,” he went on, “there are plenty of wild animals that have been
saved
from extinction by places like this ranch. I have quite a few endangered species on my property, and I know other ranchers who do too. We don't hunt all those. Instead, we've sponsored reintroduction of these species back into the wild. I'd love to try to do the same thing with rhinos, help them build back up their populations.”

“Wouldn't you be worried about poachers?” I asked pointedly.

“Oh, I think any rhinos I had here would be equally as safe as the ones at FunJungle,” Adam replied. If he knew anyone was going after our rhinos, he did an amazing job of hiding it. “I've never had an issue with poachers before.”

“But rhinos are different,” Summer pointed out. “A poacher's not going to come onto your property and make off with a whole antelope. But with the rhino, they'd only want the horn, which would be a lot easier to get.”

Adam sighed sadly. “True. Poaching's a big problem for rhinos. But there's a lot of evidence that legalized hunting cuts down on that too. See, when you make killing something illegal, that doesn't stop folks from killing it. In fact, you make the value of it go up so high that killing it becomes impossible to resist. A poacher in South Africa can make more money selling one rhino horn than he can working an honest job for three years. But if you legalize the harvesting of horns and regulate it—maybe even grow horns for sale—then the bottom would drop out of that market and there'd be far less incentive to kill those poor animals.”

“Except for sport,” Summer pointed out.

“Right,” Adam said.

I noticed another rhino head on the opposite side of the room. Adam had actually done a decent job of mounting this one, for once. It might have looked majestic if it hadn't been directly above thirteen stuffed squirrels reenacting George Washington crossing the Delaware. They were all rowing a toy boat surrounded by Lego icebergs, while squirrel Washington stood ramrod straight in a tiny powdered wig.

“Is there anyone in Texas who lets people hunt rhinos?” I asked.

Adam and June looked at each other, then shook their heads. “I doubt it,” June said. “If there were, we'd know. Exotic ranching is a small community.”

“Do you know of anyone looking to hunt one here anyhow?” Summer asked.

Adam and June regarded Summer with stunned silence. “What do you mean, exactly?” Adam asked.

Summer turned to Violet. “You didn't tell them why we were coming here?”

“I thought you wanted me to keep it a secret,” Violet said.

“What's this all about?” June asked.

Summer returned her attention to the adults. “We're having some trouble at FunJungle, and we thought you could help with it.”

“Well, we'd be happy to,” Adam told her.

“Great,” Summer said. “But the thing is, this is top secret. No one's supposed to know. In fact, my dad would probably have a cow if he knew I was talking to you about this.”

“Wait,” Adam said. “J.J. doesn't even know you're here?”

“Yesterday morning someone took a shot at one of our rhinos,” Summer said.

June gasped in alarm. Adam took a step back. Their surprise seemed genuine to me.

“How so?” Adam asked. “Like some dumb kid taking a potshot with an air rifle?”

“No,” I told them. “It was a real hunter. Using a .375 H&H Magnum.”

Adam sighed heavily. “That'd take down a rhino, all right.”

Summer said, “So we were wondering: Do you know any hunters who want to kill a rhino so badly that they'd come to a zoo to do it? Maybe someone who couldn't afford a trip to Africa? I mean, that can't be cheap, can it?”

“No,” Adam admitted. “Hunting a rhino legally can run up to a hundred thousand dollars. But I can't imagine any real hunter going after one in a zoo. A rhino in captivity is a sitting duck. That goes against everything hunters believe in.”

“But real hunters come
here
, don't they?” Summer pressed. “And your animals are in captivity.”

“It's different.” Adam led us to the end of the room, where a large window looked out over the property. Since we were up on a hill, we could see miles of woods spread out below us in the setting sun. “Yeah, our animals are fenced in, but they still have thousands of acres to roam. If you want to hunt something here, you have to go find it. Then you have to stalk it. And only after all that can you kill it—if the stars all align. I've hunted an awful lot of animals in the wild, and I can guarantee you the hunts we run here are virtually the same experience. A real hunter doesn't want me to make it easy for them. Hunting's a sport.”

“A sport one team doesn't know it's playing,” Summer whispered to me.

“The point of hunting isn't killing simply to kill,” Aunt June added. “It's pitting yourself against the animal. I can't imagine any self-respecting hunter shooting something in a zoo. Certainly, none of our clients are like that.”

I nodded, aware their argument made sense. “What if we're not talking about someone hunting the rhino for sport? Do you know anyone who'd want to kill it only for the horn?”

Adam bristled, a bit annoyed. “I don't associate with poachers.”

“But you must know most of the big-game hunters around here,” I pressed. “And whoever did this was really good with a rifle. They shot through a small window from at least a hundred yards away and came awfully close to hitting Rhonda.”

June whistled, impressed. “Your shooter knows what they're doing, all right.”

“And they used a .375 H&H,” Summer added. “That's not cheap, is it?”

“No,” June admitted. “They're several thousand dollars. And the ammunition is pricey too.”

“Could you use that gun on anything local, like deer or turkeys?” I asked.

“Of course not,” Adam said. “You'd blow them to pieces.”

“Then the only people who'd have rifles like that would be big-game hunters,” I concluded. “The kind of people who might hunt at your ranch.”

Adam's eyes flicked to meet his wife's. Then he sagged a bit and nodded. “I suppose you've got a point.”

Summer asked, “So do you know anyone with a gun like that who might need the kind of money that a rhino horn would bring in?”

Adam said, “Look, there's thousands of big-game hunters in Texas. I don't know them all. . . .”

“There's a good chance that it's a woman,” I said.

Everyone looked to me, surprised—including Summer.

“You didn't know?” I asked her, then explained. “Security found footage of the hunter going over the fence last night. It looks like it's a woman, if that helps narrow things down.”

Adam thought about this for a bit, then started to shake his head.

Then June said, “Lydia Trask.”

Adam spun on her, angry. “Lydia wouldn't do any such thing.”

“She might,” June said firmly. “She's a good shot, and she's fallen on hard times. Her family needs money, and you know it.”

“Who's Lydia Trask?” Summer asked.

“One of our clients,” June said quickly, before Adam could speak. “Or at least, she used to be. Her husband had a big construction company, but it went bankrupt. Now they're deep in debt.”

“That doesn't mean she'd kill a rhino,” Adam snapped. “And besides, they're in the hole to the tune of millions. The money a rhino horn would bring in would barely be a drop in the bucket.”

“But it'd still be a drop,” Summer pointed out.

Adam swung back to face her. “I wouldn't put my money on Lydia Trask. But you know who I
would
look at? Abby Duntz.”

I stiffened at the last name. “Is she related to Hank Duntz?”

“His sister,” Adam replied.

“Who's Hank Duntz?” Violet asked.

“Most people call him ‘Hank the Tank,' ” Summer informed her. “He was a professional criminal who worked for a rival of my father's. He tried to sabotage one of our exhibits last year, but Teddy caught him and he went to jail.”

Violet turned to me, intrigued. “You caught another bad guy besides Vance Jessup?”

“And he caught both the same day,” Summer said.

“Wow,” Violet said, impressed. “How?”

“I didn't really catch him,” I told her, not feeling like telling the whole story. “Security did. I only figured out he was the one who'd caused all the trouble.”

“Well, whatever the case, he's in jail because of FunJungle,” Adam told us. “So it stands to reason that his sister might have a grudge against that place. Now, we don't know her. She lives way out by Houston. But she's a crack shot and she's won some state rifle tournaments in the women's division.”

Summer asked, “So you think she might be shooting at the rhino just to get even with my dad?”

Adam shrugged. “That rhino's pretty valuable. And someone interested in revenge wouldn't need to get the horn from the rhino. They'd simply want the rhino dead.”

“But why would she only go after the rhino?” Violet asked. “If someone was really angry at J.J., why not go after any of the other animals?”

“Maybe she still will.” Adam turned to Summer. “I'm not saying Abby's behind this, but if she is, then
all
your animals could be in danger.”

I leaned against the window and looked back at the room full of poorly mounted animals, feeling as nauseated as all of them appeared to be. Hank Duntz had been a nasty, dangerous man. If he had a sister with a grudge, that could be very bad news indeed.

“There's another basketball game this
Friday after school,” Violet told me. “Are you coming?”

Summer's SUV was idling in front of Violet's house. We'd stopped at the Dairy Queen for takeout on the way back, and now the rear seat was littered with wrappers and used napkins.

“I don't know,” I said. “I hadn't planned on it.”

“Me neither,” Summer said.

“You should come!” Violet told us. “It'll be fun. Even though the team stinks. Dash and Ethan are coming. Everyone's gonna go out for pizza afterward.”

That
did
sound fun. “Maybe,” I said. “If I can get a ride.”

“If you can't, let me know,” Violet said. “Maybe we can figure something out.” She batted her eyes, slipped out the door, and hurried up the walk to her house.

Tran started driving us toward FunJungle.

“Oooh,” Summer teased. “She
likes
you.”

I could feel my cheeks warming as I blushed. “She does not. She was asking both of us to come.”

“She was asking
you
.” Summer did an amped-up imitation of Violet, batting her eyes at me. “You should come. It'll be sooooo much fun. And afterward, maybe we can go smooch somewhere.”

Now it felt like my whole face was red. Thankfully, the glass partition was closed between us and the front seat, so Hondo and Tran couldn't hear anything. “I'm only in seventh grade. Why would she like me?”

“Because you punched out the school bully. And solved the case of the stolen koala. And you're more interesting than anyone else at school. Face it—she likes you. The
head cheerleader
likes you. You should be thrilled. That's every guy's dream come true, isn't it?”

It was definitely the dream of lots of guys at my school. Xavier Gonzalez, for one. He'd had a crush on Violet since kindergarten. But I wasn't into Violet, and I really didn't feel like telling Summer
why
. So instead I asked, “Do you think Violet's uncle was telling the truth?”

“Don't try to change the subject.”